Forever
by ndyss
Summary: "It's the TARDIS messing with the coordinates, he knows that, and no matter how much he complains, the Old Girl just does as she pleases in these situations. She misses her child, after all, and she misses her wolf." The Doctor's and Rose's timelines keep intertwining even (or especially) when he tries to avoid it.


Author's Note: Apparently, I like to make myself cry by coming up with improbable multi-Doctor/Rose angsty scenarios that may not even have a lot of sense. I have no excuses. Enjoy and please let me know what you think if you have the time.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who

* * *

FOREVER

The first time he comes across her is not the first time at all. Something must have gone wrong with the setting of the coordinates and he finds himself looking at Rose Tyler from a time before she could recognize him as the same man in a leather jacket walking beside her. He leaves without a word, but double checks the coordinates he sets next, just to be sure.

* * *

The second time he sees her, he opens the door expecting to be on the other side of the universe, and finds a smiling Rose Tyler instead. Her smile falters just a little bit when she sees a different Doctor than the one she was expecting. They stare at each other for a while, Rose trying to determine whether he is from the past or the future, or if he regenerated while he was away, and the Doctor trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Doctor?" She asks, not because she doesn't know who he is, but because she wonders whether he knows who she is. He manages a smile, one that he's sure looks terribly apologetic a not entirely convincing.

"Sorry. I'm not supposed to be here, am I?" He tries to sound cheerful, but all he wants to do is find a way out of this before he messes with the timelines.

"Well, I was waiting for a different you..." She doesn't ask what she wants to know, but he can see the worry under her easy smile. His hand moves of its own accord and swipes his hair back nervously. His pathetic excuse for a smile stays on his face as he wonders what he should say to reassure her without revealing too much.

"I'm sure he'll be here shortly, which means I really should leave before I meet myself and cause some irreversible paradox and..." Her soft laugh stops his rambling and he can't help but relax a bit as well.

"You never really change, do you?"

"I guess it depends on the point of view." His lips turn up on their own, as it used to happen when he wore leather and smiling didn't come easy unless he was with her. She studies him a little more at that, still not sure of which one he is.

"New face?" she asks, stepping closer so she can stroke his cheek with her fingers, slowly and tentatively, as if to make sure he's real.

"Next one, actually. Though I probably shouldn't be telling you that." There are so many ways their encounter can go wrong, but he cannot bring himself to leave, not yet, not when her hand is warm and soft against his skin and even though it's not the same face the feeling of her hasn't changed. He closes his eyes and sighs, allows himself to bask in the moment for a little while before he takes her hand in his.

"I'd better leave before your Doctor shows up, eh?" He steps back toward the TARDIS, but her voice stops him midway.

"Will I see you again?" She asks and he can't tell whether her voice is lined with worry for his past self or just curiosity. Either way, there isn't much he can do.

"Who knows?" He whispers, almost to himself, before he closes the door behind him, perhaps never to see her again.

* * *

He's not that lucky, of course, he never is when it comes to this. It's the TARDIS messing with the coordinates, he knows that, and no matter how much he complains, the Old Girl just does as she pleases in these situations. She misses her child, after all, and she misses her wolf. And since he refuses to take her to the first, she insists on taking him to the other. The Doctor doesn't mind, not entirely, but he knows there's a number of things that can go wrong if he's not careful. It's not just that he's afraid of meeting himself. He worries that he'll let something slip, that he'll tell her something she's not supposed to know, that she will somehow find out why she's not with him anymore, why his eyes look so sad even when he smiles at her. So when he runs into her the next few times, the Doctor barely stops to exchange a few words before he starts running again, trying to get as far as he can from her. Deep in his hearts he's glad for this second chance, he's glad he can see her again, happy and smiling, the way he wants to remember her. But he dreads the day she will ask him where her future self is, because he isn't sure he can look in her eyes and lie to preserve the timelines. He's not sure he can go through the same pain again.

That's why every time he sees her he swears to himself it will be the last time. He cannot bear her happy, unaware smiles, while he has to lie through his teeth because telling her what is to happen would change their whole futures and make the universe collapse. He's done all this before, he expected it to be easier the second time around, but it isn't, and the closer she gets to the time he has to leave her, the more he wants to tell her and destroy the universe. And he hates himself, because he knows he's not going to do that, he didn't do it before, he will not do it this time. And he hates himself even more because he knows she trusts him and loves him so much that she won't tell his past self a word of all this, even when hurt and abandoned on a beach in a parallel world.

* * *

The TARDIS takes him to her after Gallifrey and he faintly remembers, from lifetimes ago, something about a form chosen especially for him. That shouldn't have been a surprise, really: he had always tried to be the best he could for her. He wonders whether she knows the truth, whether the Moment, Rose Tyler and Bad Wolf are one and the same, or if at least they share some parts of one conscience. Because, somehow, he thinks she knows what he's done.

When she sees him, she smiles and hugs him and kisses his cheek as if nothing is wrong. And nothing else matters, not as long as her presence soothes him and gives him hope, though he knows he doesn't have a right to feel that way, not when he can remember the hopelessness on her face the first time he left her. He locks the thought away in a corner of his mind and buries his face in Rose's hair: he's had too much, more than he can bear on his own. Before he can stop himself, the words tumble out of his mouth:

"I never burned Gallifrey." And he tells her the whole story, every bit of it, and once he's done he cannot stop so he keeps going and talks about Clara and her impossible story. Rose listens and holds him and even if she wonders why she isn't in his stories she doesn't ask. He's glad, because at this point he would probably answer, and to hell with the universe! He sighs, resigned, because he has broken too many rules already, has tampered with the timelines one too many times to risk ruining what little they have now. So he gets his mind back under control and stops before he says too much. Rose looks at him in understanding, but there's a shade of worry in her eyes, even when she smiles reassuringly. He tries to smile back, thinking that is conscience is at last a little lighter, even though his hearts still swell with guilt and regret when it comes to her. They hug one last time and he turns to leave, swearing to himself once again that this goodbye will be the final one. Once he is back inside the TARDIS, though, he hears the word liar clearly inside his mind.

* * *

He sees her again as an old Scotsman and she laughs when she recognizes him. He wonders if, like River, by now she knows his every face; if, like Clara, she has saved each and every one of them.

"Well, it's not bad." She says, "Bit older and grumpier, but I guess I'm not complaining." Then her cheeky smile turns into a soft, loving one as she asks:

"Did you choose an older face because of me, Doctor?" His hearts break at the thought of how things would have been different, of which faces he might have worn had she stayed with him forever like she had promised to. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that, for him, she is long gone.

"You used to get younger every time, are you getting older to keep me company now?" He should answer, give her something so she doesn't worry, but the words get stuck in his throat. She notices, because she always does.

"Am I still traveling with you, Doctor?" Her voice is serious now and he knows she's not only thinking of what the future may have in store for her, but also of what the consequences were for him. She doesn't need to ask and he doesn't need to answer, she already knows and has known for a while, the Doctor is certain of it. But that doesn't make it any easier, and all he can give her are empty words.

"Well, I can't answer that, now can I?" He tries to make it light and smile, but it comes harder with this face. He sees the pain surface in her eyes and his hearts swell, his throat constricts and any word he might have wanted to say chokes him. She runs into his arms and he can do nothing to prevent it. Not that he wants to: he understands the need to hide in a hug.

"Do I get to tell you?" She asks with what sounds like regret, her voice trembling the way it always does when she doesn't want to cry.

"Tell me what?" He asks in return, because for once he's the one who doesn't know.

"That I love you." She doesn't hesitate and her voice barely cracks, but it breaks his hearts all the same. He waits and holds her tight, because he feels he doesn't have the strength to say what he wants to, what he owes her.

"You get to say it, yes." He hardly recognizes his own voice, sounding so old and distant, with all those centuries between them and the memory of those words. He settles for that and hopes it's enough for her, while it certainly isn't enough for him.

"Do you ever answer me?" She asks at last, her voice muffled by the collar of his shirt, where she's buried her face. He sighs and places a kiss on her head.

"Rose Tyler," he murmurs in her ear, his hearts beating so hard in his chest he's afraid they might explode. "I love you." He doesn't hesitate, because he's done so in the past and he knows that hesitation will break her heart in her future. So he kisses her temple again and waits, though for what, he doesn't know. They stand entwined like that until his words settle, until their hearts slow down to normal. She sighs, breathes him in, and this time her voice doesn't crack when she asks:

"How long am I gonna stay with you?" He takes his time, trying to find an answer that won't hurt her more than he already has, one that can be true without revealing too much. He takes his time and when he finally finds the word he's looking for, he takes her face in his hands and looks straight into her eyes. He wants her to know he's not lying, he needs her to know. So slowly, pouring his hearts in that one last word he says:

"Forever."


End file.
